


Free Angel: Preferably to Broken Home

by Maverick_CW



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maverick_CW/pseuds/Maverick_CW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the idea of FaceBook’s I Devote my Soul to Castiel! Page in reference to a sweet ‘chibi’ drawing of a tiny Castiel in a cardboard box with this story’s title scribbled on a sign taped to the side! Ya HAVE to see this pix, ask the administrators if ya can’t find it, they’ll be happy to share it with ya! Great folks on that page! <3<br/>A/N: I miss Baby SO much that ya might well consider this at least slightly AU because I can NOT write Dean driving anything BUT the Impala! *shrug* Sorry! And for visual effect with lil Cass… If you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing a picture of Misha Collins’ son, West, imagine HIM only with darker hair! It’s how I could picture Misha/Castiel as a child! *le sigh* Also, FYI, for those who don’t know much about American English slang…‘FUBAR’ is an acronym for ‘Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition’. Apology for the F-bomb there! ;D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  

(Artist unknown - Image found in the "[Cute Little Cas](https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.376806055676463.93489.213692945321109&type=3)" album of '[I Would Like To Devote My Soul To Castiel](https://www.facebook.com/pages/I-would-like-to-devote-my-soul-to-Castiel/213692945321109)' page on Facebook.)

 

 

* * *

 

   It had been a LONG day…scratch that, long WEEK…Ah, HELL, long several MONTHS! Screw it…maybe we should just shot for their whole LIVES having been FUBAR’ed! Closer approximation! They’d lost their best friend and ally - more like an adopted brother, really - to bad decisions built on good intentions, to the only house that had ever come CLOSE to being a home being torched by the things THEY were supposed to be hunting - NOT the other way around, then the man that’s been like a second father is taken out by the, seemingly, never-ending war they always seemed embroiled in! It’s been a long time since the Winchester brothers have felt THIS lost and alone in the world that wants to eat them whole, LITERALLY!  
   So no sooner had the room at ANOTHER crap-tastic motel been paid for, then both of the Winchester brothers dropped unconscious on each bed. Just barely thinking to lock and salt the door and one window before it was lights out!  
   Dean bolted up-right at some point in the night, shaking and sweating. Hand instinctually reaching to the night stand for his trusted .45. Blurry vision trained down the gun’s sights, he quickly scans the small room for whatever threat had startled him awake. As his eyes sweep to the far side, the veteran Hunter lowers his weapon as it swings over the tossing form of his baby brother, who grunts and flips onto his stomach unaware.  
   With an amused huff, the elder Winchester shoves the pistol back on the table. A groan, sigh and head shake follow a disgruntled glance at the alarm clock.  
‘1:27 A.M.? Seriously?’ He thinks while envisioning the clock smashing against the far wall!  
   Knowing full well that continued sleep would elude him, Dean stares around his surroundings again trying vainly to recall the disturbing dream from moments before. He gives up quickly, slapping the mattress hopelessly and goes about thinking of how to entertain himself without waking Sammy. Giving the timepiece a slightly less aggressive peek, he decided he could make the bar down the road before last call.  
   As quickly and quietly as he could, the older Winchester tossed back the covers and slide into his boots. He and his brother had been so exhausted when they hit the hay earlier in the night, that kicking off their shoes was as far as they got to changing out of their street clothes. Now he was glad for the few extra minutes he was saving by not having to change out of sweatpants.  
   Throwing on his carpenter jacket as an afterthought at the door, Dean gave his brother one last look, sending up a prayer to…WHOEVER was still Upstairs…that Sam would sleep well enough for the hour or so he was gone.  
   Outside, he turns up his collar and growls at the sky above.  
‘When the HELL did it start RAINING!?!’  
   Sure, there’d been some cloud cover when they pulled in. But nothing that would have forewarned of the silent lightning and torrential downpour that sounded like rapid gunfire as it slammed off the metal and glass of the cars around him. The Hunter jogged across the parking lot to the mechanical “love of his life”, pulling out the keys as he went. Once safe inside the Impala from the cold rain, he tossed his head and coat and felt a pang of pity for anyone who might be caught in such foul weather.  
   The radio stayed unusually quiet during the several block drive. Dean, for once, enjoying the simple melody on water tapping on the windshield and steady rhythm of the wipers. At a red light just down from his destination, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, impatient for the signal to change. The Hunter jumped, startled, as a flash of light and crash of thunder drew his musings to the view beyond the passenger window.  
   Several more bolts illuminated a massive ancient church ominously. But more interesting than the castle-like architecture, more heart stopping than the stunning stain glass windows was a lone cardboard box sitting precariously on the stone rail amidst driving wind and rain. A small note taped to the side flapped wildly like a trapped butterfly. Just as Dean made to turn his focus back to the road, he spied a small soaked tuft of dark fur poke over the edge before quickly ducking back into to it’s relative shelter.  
   The blare of a horn from behind snapped his attention to the fact the light had finally turned green. Pulling ahead slowly, the elder Winchester couldn’t stop his eyes from glancing back with worry for the helpless thing outside the church. He paid no mind to the vehicle passing him in the wrong lane with a decidedly rude hand gesture. The Hunter’s attention remained partially glued to the rear view mirror even as he pulled to the curb.  
   ‘I can’t REALLY be thinking of…’ He sighed at himself even as he put the Impala in reverse and carefully backed up to park beside the huge edifice. As he sat staring through the rain splattered window, Dean’s face took on a look of awe as the tiny head eased above the paper edge once again. This time, though, the matted hair was followed by large fearful eyes peering out of a pale face.  
   ‘And just what the HELL are Sammy and I gonna do with a PET?’ He tried to rationalize with himself as it popped back down again. ‘Well, I can at least get it out of the cold rain for one night. Take it to a shelter in the morning.’  
   Resolved to aid the poor creature, he stepped out of the warmth of his car and ran to the box’s side. He briefly noted the church’s sign next to the railing as a shock of lightning flared. St. Gabriel’s Methodist Church. A smirk ticked his lips with the brush of memory of a reluctant winged ally that’d had an insatiable sweet tooth!  
   “Hey, dude…wanna get where it’s dry?” He tapped the container. When no response came, the Hunter smacked the cardboard a little harder. “Ya didn’t already drop dead in there, did ya?”  
   The box shifted as whatever was inside moved about and a mournful “oooohhh” came from within. A small smile spread across his face as he carefully took up his load and quickly transferred it to the passenger seat. Sliding behind the wheel, Dean nudged his prize once more while issuing a stern warning.  
   “Telling ya now…Whatever the hell are…ya even TRY to hurt me or my brother, especially my brother, and, dude, I’ll gank ya myself! Got it?”  
A soft rustle of movement was followed by “Ep” muttered so quietly, he passed it off as more that the thing had hiccupped than actually responded.  
   “Okie dokie…Well, ya gotta be soaked and cold so…” The soft hearted Hunter reached heedlessly onto the backseat and pulled up front the first dry cloth his hand touched. He remotely acknowledged a dirty old coat for a second before shrugging as he tossed it into the box. “Here.”  
   “Oh! MY!” Came a squeal that shocked the Winchester. As he watched fascinated, the rest of the jacket was swiftly pulled in. Dean peered as best as he could in the box only to find the creature covered over and nestling itself into the material with a mute mewing of “My, my.”  
   “Seems we got ourselves a cat, Sammy!” He chuckled as the Impala u-turned back towards the motel where, hopefully, said brother was still sleeping peacefully.  
   Pulling back into a parking space minutes later, the Hunter leaned an ear near the cardboard. The only sound coming from within resembled gentle snores. He grinned trying to imagine what their new companion might look like. Shaking his head, Dean wondered why he found himself hoping the cat would have deep blue eyes and fluffy black fur. Silently chastising himself for such an absurd notion, he, less than gently, pulled the box out the driver’s side with him.  
   ‘Don’t go getting attached, Winchester! ONE night! That’s it! Can’t keep a cat when ya live on the road!’  
   Once inside, he passed a glance to Sam to be certain he was still out and set the box on the counter next to the small kitchenette sink. Clicking on the little wall lamp over it, Dean again took note of the sign taped to cardboard. He snatched it off and held it under the light.  
   ‘Free angel’ It read. ‘Preferably to broken home. VERY disobedient!’ The Hunter chuckled under his breath at the misspelled words written in crayon. And then full out laughed when he looked over the size of the box that supposedly held a celestial being as he remembered one such creature unemotionally boasting, ‘…my TRUE form is approximately the size of your Chrysler Building.’ ‘Angel, my ass!’ And, absently, jammed the paper in a pocket of his coat.  
   “Alright, bud! We’re in a dry warm motel room.” He reached cautiously in and grabbed the jacket. “What do ya say we get a look at ya?”  
Dean was a little more than startled when the material was yanked out of his hand with a scolding, “MY! My ‘oat!”  
   “WHAT THE…!”  
   He made short work of stepping over to switch on the overhead light, which elicited a pained groan from his brother - who tossed his pillow over his head! From his position next to the door, the Hunter stared nervously at the box as it shuffled itself off the edge of the counter landing with a thump and whimpered “Owie!”. A corner of the box lifted to reveal a pair of sky blue eyes glaring at him accusingly. When it dropped back to the floor, Dean bravely maneuvered next to it and toed the box off the ‘cat?’ before lurching back to a safe distance .  
   The coat he’d courteously offered it earlier was balled over and around it and was being pulled in tighter as he watched. He crouched low and reached far to snag the jacket and pull it away quickly so as not to give the thing time to hoard it again. As the being wrapped inside tumbled out, the veteran Hunter jumped back not knowing what to expect.  
   What he found appeared to be a baby, or rather toddler. A little boy perhaps 1-2 years old. Longish shaggy black bangs fell over huge watering eyes in a sad wilted face. The child turned a disheartened glance up at Dean, who could do nothing more than fall onto his butt and mutter, “Son of a bitch!”  
“ ‘On a ‘itch!” The boy, tried, to repeat while wiping an oozing nose on the sleeve of a wrinkled mini business coat.  
Taken aback by the copying, the older Winchester chastised, “Hey! You’re too little to say that!”  
   To which the child’s visage fell further, apologetically, “Oopsie.” The battle-hardened Hunter’s heart sank for the sorrowful image before him.  
Scooting forward a bit, he consoled, “There, little man. It’s okay, I’m not mad at ya!” Putting out his arms, Dean waved his fingers in a ‘Come to me’ motion. “C’mere, bud.” When the boy stood and toddled toward him on bare feet with head tilted curiously, he was struck by a strong sense of déjà vu. ‘NO…It CAN’T be!’  
When the boy, literally, falls into his hands, he’s gently pulled onto the Hunter’s lap and quietly questioned, “Cass?”  
   The child’s deep blue eyes lifted and lighted up. “ ‘Ello ‘Ean!” Then, mockingly pouting, asked, “ ‘Ean, my ‘oat?”, pointing to the jacket still in the adult’s hand. Looking down at it, Dean finally realized WHAT jacket it was he’d thrown haphazardly into the box and understood the reaction it had received! Of course Cass would recognize it, it was his!  
   “Um, yeah…Cass? Yeah, YOUR coat!” He watched, fascinated, as the mini angel took the jacket and struggles to slip short arms into the long sleeves. Chuckling at the child tugging the material up far enough to make his hands visible, his amused shutters become joyful sobs.  
   “ ‘Ean?”  
   “Yeah, buddy?” He sniffled.  
   “Why ‘ou c’y? ‘Ou s’ill ma’ a me?” Tiny hands reach up to wipe away the tears.  
   “Wha…God, no, Cass! It’s just…We…Me, Bobby, Sammy…we thought…” Dean suddenly sobers and quickly, but carefully, sets the boy on his feet. “SAM!” Jumping to his own feet, he runs to his brother’s side and starts shaking him, crazed. “SAM! Get UP! It’s Cass, he’s alive!”  
   “Screw off, Dean! Lemme sleep!” Swinging half-heartedly with one arm, Sam pulls the pillow tighter over his head with the other.  
   “Wake the hell up, Sammy! Cass is…”  
   The younger Winchester moves the cushion far enough to finish for Dean, “DEAD! Damn it, Dean, Cass is DEAD! You KNOW it!”  
   “But…” The older tries again, desperate to get the other to just LOOK.  
   “NO…damn it! Just…no!” Slamming the pillow back under his head with a sigh, Sam turned away muttering, “It’s just another dream, bro! Just a dream!”  
   “But…It’s not a dream! Not this time.” Dean’s somber musings as he stands dejectedly staring at his brother get interrupted by a little hand tugging at his pant leg. The childish visage of his friend stares up at him with all the solemn curiousness of the adult version.  
   “ ‘Ammie s’ill ‘ick?” Little Cass inquires, tapping an index finger against his temple.  
   “Yeah, Cass. Sammy’s still sick. Actually, he’s…” The Hunter drops back onto his own bed and tries fruitlessly to avoid the little angel’s piercing gaze peeking over his knees. “Well, he’s worse than when…”  
   The tiny face drops as his bottom lip starts to tremble, “ ‘En I b’oke him ‘ead!”  
   “Aw! Damn it, kiddo! C’ mere!” Dean lifts the small child and sits him carefully beside him, rubbing circles on his back. “I get it, Cass! Really I do! I know you didn’t WANT to hurt Sam. Know that you wanna fix him. You did the best you could at the time!”  
   The Hunter startles when he realizes his hand is now only moving air. Looking over, he finds the miniature Castiel has scooted off his bed and is crawling up onto Sam’s. Muttering as he struggles, “It o’ tay, ‘Ammie! I ‘ere mack righ’ !” Dean stares dumbfounded as the angel shuffles on his knees up next to Sam’s head, tenderly lacing his tiny fingers through his brother’s long hair. “I sho’ dent a b’oke ya ‘ead! Oh, ‘Ammie, I SO ‘orry!”  
   A soft white light shines in the big azure eyes and glows under his small palms. His face grows contorted from the effort he puts into the healing. But after several minutes, the child angel drops back on his heels, panting and whimpering. Cass lifts his hands before his face, balling and opening his fists. Looking for all the world like he’s never seen such small, weak things in all his existence. “I ca…can dent ‘eel ‘im!” He sobs. Looking over at his friend, tears down chubby cheeks, the little boy openly cries, “I SO ‘ery ‘orry, ‘Ean! I…I can DENT!” before burying his face in the younger brother’s shoulder.  
   Dean reaches across the narrow space and pulls Cass away from Sam, cradling him on his lap.  
   “It’s okay, buddy! I swear! It’s alright! You’re just too small right now. That’s all!” He rocks the boy with all the care and concern he hopes to, someday, show his own child. “I don’t know who or what made you little like this, Cass! But I swear to you…I’ll find out how to get ya big again!”  
   Carrying his light load in gentle arms, the Hunter walks over to switch off the overhead lights. Arranging the little angel next to him, the older brother throws a tenuous glance at the other, whom, somehow, sleep deeply through the attempted restoration. Dean fondly snugs the stained trench coat under the kid’s chin.          “Let’s get some sleep, Cass! Maybe things’ll seem clearer in the morning! Okay?”  
   Clutching at the front of the shirt of the man that’s always been more of a brother than any of his own, the angel pipes, “Okie dokie.”, before burying his tears in the material and chanting under his breath, “MY ‘Ean…MY ‘Ammie…SO ‘orry! So ‘orry, my ‘Ean an ‘Ammie!”  
   The Hunter clamps his jaw against the fresh wave of emotion and dozes off. Lulled by the mantra, muffled as it is, that’s a harmony between that of a dove’s coo and kitten’s purr.


	2. Chapter 2

 

   Dean bolted up-right at some point in the night, shaking and sweating. Hand instinctually reaching to the night stand for his trusted .45. Blurry vision trained down the gun’s sights, he quickly scans the small room for whatever threat had startled him awake. 

   “Damn it, Dean! It’s only me! Put that friggin' gun away, will ya?” Sammy’s glaring down at him from his 6’5” tower, bare-chested, arms up defensively, change of clothes in hand and loafer still pushing down on the foot of Dean’s bed from where he’d just kicked at it. “Shesh!” 

   Lowering the weapon, he notes it’s no longer night. Bright sunlight streams through the bare thread curtains. Little brother is shaking his head at him, disgustedly, as he heads for the bathroom to get dressed. 

   “And, for Heaven’s sake, Dean…Please tell me you are NOT sleeping with Cass’ coat again! He’s gone, dude…I miss him too but we GOTTA pack up and move on. Ya know?” The door slams shut, though doesn’t completely smother the sound of his voice as it continues it’s triad.

   The older brother throws the door the middle finger muttering, “Like YOU still haven’t ‘packed up and moved on’ after Bobby, ya bitch! Not like I have either, but still…”

   A split second later, the mention of the angel sends Dean’s eyes searching the room again for the tiny child visitor from during the night. Gritting his teeth when the only sign left is the old stained trench coat laying rumpled beside him on the bed. No trace of the little boy himself, not even the cardboard box he’d been brought in with. 

   When Sam came out a few minutes later, he questioned him about the box.

   Bitch face #28: The Confused Sammy Face!

   “No…” He pauses, thinking, then continues, “Nope, no boxes, man! Why?”

   “Cuz Cass was here. I found him in a cardboard box, outside an old church, in the pouring rain on my way to the bar and…” He rambles on quickly but still is cut off.

   “Seriously? With THAT again? I told ya last night when ya woke me with it…” Bitch Face #41: Concerned Sammy Face! “It was JUST another dream, dude! And if ya did make it to the bar, you were PROBABLY drunk off your ass when ya got back!”

   “I’m TELLING ya, Sammy! It WAS Cass…here…”

   With a bracing sigh, the younger brother decides to switch tactics.

   “Tell ya what… What was the name of the church you supposedly found him at?”

   Dean tries to pull off Bitch face #3: Sammy’s ‘OKAY, Captain Random!’ Face! But knows it’s an EPIC fail! Huffing a deep  frustrated breath, he humors him. “St. Gabriel’s. It’s the Methodist church RIGHT down the road a few blocks!”

   Sam pulls a telephone directory from the night stand the .45 is back to resting on and holds it up as if to say, ‘Well, let’s just find out about this!’. After thumbing through the yellow pages a few minutes, he tosses the book on Dean’s lap.

   “Sorry, bro! NO St. Gabriel’s Methodist in town. I’m telling ya…it was another drunken dream!”

  “Well, maybe they’re not listed in the yellows! Check the white pages…” The older Hunter grabs the book and starts flipping through it. Only to have it snatched away by the younger.

   “C’mon, Dean! Just…grab your crap and you can SHOW me the place! On the way outta town! Ya know, before the local badges start wondering about the *air quotes ‘FBI’* that’s been poking round?”

   With a disgruntled humph, Dean throws off the blanket earning him an equally incredible stare for wearing his boots to bed. 

   In no time, the Impala was packed up, room keys turned in and the Winchester brothers peel their way out of another town.

   At the only signal light between the motel and bar, the older brother parks, again, at the curb. And stares, disbelieving, at the little white-washed Baptist church that’s squatting where a huge stone Methodist had been the night before.

   “Dean…What?” Sam’s snaps side to side, looking from the church to his brother’s horrified face.

   “That…damn it! That’s where the Methodist church is…was…” Dean shakes his head trying to clear the myriad thoughts and runs a sweating hand down his face. “I SWEAR, Sammy, it was right there!”

   “Well, you’re partially right, dude. I mean… there IS a church there. It’s just NOT St. Gabriel’s! That’s…” He reads the neat carefully placed billboard lettering, “Our Lady of the Sacred Heart Zion Baptist.” The younger Winchester startles when the bench seat is slammed against and turns to find the older staring, furious, out the wind shield. 

   “Hate to I told ya so…” he whispers, nervously.

   “Then DON’T!” His brother finishes in a growl.

   Sam sits quietly, watching the muscles in Dean’s jaw work. He really doesn’t want to speak again just yet, afraid Mount St. Dean might erupt and wipe him out. 

   After several minutes, both boys nearly jumped out of their skins as a knock on the passenger window sounded. Rolling down the glass, Sam comes face to face with an elderly woman looking concerned.

   “You boys okay?” She asked, placing a small hand on the door.

   “Uh…Yes, ma’am! Just...admiring the cute little church there.” The white lie rolled off a well practiced tongue.

   Glancing over her shoulder then back, “Ah! It is very pretty, isn’t it?” Then leaning further into the window, “Should’ve seen the one that was there before it! Magnificent!”

   Sam and Dean both sat straighter at the hushed comment. “Before it?” They reiterated in unison.

   Chuckling and motioning at the two men, “That was cute! Yeah, sure there was! Huge beautiful Methodist church almost 35 years ago now. All massive stone-work and stained glass windows…”

   “A Methodist? You’re sure?” Sam cuts her off.

   “Of course I’m sure, dear! I better be…I was married in that church just a month before it burned!”

   “Wait so…” He looks at Dean, who’s listening enraptured and nods for him to keep going. “Do you remember the name of it?”

   The lady looks at the younger man as if he’s lost his mind, “Yeah, of coure…St. Gabriel’s! Terrible shame. Like I said! Beautiful building! Set ablaze by a bolt of lightning in early ‘79! One of the worst storms the area had seen in a long time, I tell ya!”

   The older Winchester stretches around the younger to ask with a smirk, “Kinda like the knocker we had last night, huh? That was a doozy!”

   Withdrawing from the window, the woman appears suddenly nervous of the young men in the classic car. She starts backing away as she ends the conversation with, “There was no storm last night. Ain’t had rain round here in over a week. I’m sorry, boys, if you’ll excuse me…I really should get to my shopping!” And hurriedly continues along her way.

   Sam stares incredibly at his brother for a moment. “Seriously, man…What the hell?”

   “I dunno, Sammy!” 

   “Well, how’d ya get Mojo’d up?” He stares the older down with a dropped jaw. When the only response is the same look returned back to him, he tries to explain, “Damn, dude! Ya find CASS in a cardboard BOX, of all things, outside a church in a down pour! Only that church BURNED down over 30 years ago BECOUSE of lightning from a storm! Again…What the HELL?”

   “I DON’T KNOW, Sam! But ya DO know what…we were leaving this back water town, weren’t we? Let’s just leave THIS cup of crazy alone and bail!”

   “But, Dean…there could be something ELSE supernatural going on in this town!”

   “And it’s only happening to ME? I…Nah-uh, I ain’t comfortable with that!” The Impala’s proud owner throws the gear shifter down into drive and burns rubber for the city limits. “All I want is to put as much blacktop between us and this whack-a-doodle town as possible!” He spins the radio knob, cranking the volume on his favorite CCR cassette.

   “DEAN…”

   Turning it up higher, said brother screams, “SORRY, SAMMY! I CAN’T SEEM TO HEAR YA! THE MUSIC IS KIND'A LOUD!”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: *Major Spoilers for 7.17 - ‘The Borne-Again Identity’!* If ya haven’t seen it yet, ya may NOT want to read this till after ya do! Chapter DOES include partial and EXACT quotes from the episode. As well as recaps of the finer details of the episode that are PERTINENT to this fan fiction’s base storyline.  
> Disclaimer: NO, I do NOT ‘Supernatural’ in any way, shape or form… But it’s NOT my fault I’m as good at playing with Kripke’s toys as well as he is! *snickers* My bad.

A Few Months Later:

 

   Dean was going out of his ever-loving MIND! Things started small, well, small-ER! He’d started noticing shades of Robo-Sam again, not the cold-hearted killer part, at least, but the no sleeping part. Apparently, Sammy’s ol’ pal, Lucifer, was throwing a non-stop rave in his brother’s melon. AND Luci was wiping his ass with the restraining order called Sammy’s hand scar trick! So, the younger Winchester had taken to popping No Doze like candy and chasing them with TRIPLE “Red Eyes”! The boy’s new caffeine addiction was making Dean’s alcohol habit look as tame as a wedding toast!  

   Then the kid up and poofs out on him, landing in a psych ward. When big brother catches up and tries to talk some fight back into him, “Quit being Dalai frickin' Yoda about this, okay? Get pissed!”, all he gets for a response is a sigh and “This is what happens when you throw a soul into Lucifer's dog bowl.”.          

   Disgusted by Sammy’s new disheartened “roll over and die” attitude, Dean’s “protective big brother mode” kicks into hyper drive! Going through Dad’s journal, he crosses off name after name after, just about, EVERY freaking name with hopes of finding SOMEONE who can help his baby brother! Or, at very least, someone with info to someone who can! After number eight on his list politely tells him where to shove it, “…SO sorry to have BOTHERED you!”, the older Winchester grabs up Bobby’s journal to start going through.   

   He thought twice about how it had fallen from the table when he went for a new beer. Which conveniently left the business card of another Hunter lying on the floor. “Bobby, that you?” A Hunter who, in turn, was able to point him to a healer in Colorado. A healer that, apparently, is the real deal! For once! “I’m going blind.” Mackey had said to the guy’s wife, one Daphne Allen, to get him to show. Hey, it was true, his right eye was burnt out! Set up all kinds of traps and tests for the dude…who passed them ALL! Then, this guy, this ‘Emmanuel’, “He touched me, and my eye was fixed. Look – I don't believe in much…but I wouldn’t call you on a maybe!”

   No sooner did he hang up with Mackey, then he was grabbing his favorite carpenter jacket and reaching for the Impala’s keys. In the one outer pocket that normally housed them, the Hunter pulls out a half destroyed piece of paper. Staring quizzically at it for a minute, he carefully opens it in hopes of discovering any importance it might hold. What he finds is a mire of scribbled crayon lettering. Some running together, most smeared into an unrecognizable mess. The only legible parts reading “Free…to…home…”. Whatever it’s original meaning had been seemed to have been lost while being sent through a washing machine with the jacket at some point! Balling it up, Dean dropped the paper nonchalantly into the can next to the door as he flew out. The memory of it’s finding already forget with revving of his car’s motor and the hope of having found help for his brother.

   But what Dean DIDN’T give a second thought to was tracking this miracle worker down! Not hard given his usual gig! And he believed he’d prepared himself for whatever he might find at the address that stood before him! But when the Hunter dispatched a demon pretending to be the faith healer, he WASN’T  ready for the person who’s feet the body had dropped at! 

   There, at the bottom of the front porch steps, stood none other than Castiel himself! Or, at least, in form and presence! Dean stood slack jawed and dumbfounded as the former angel innocently inquired, “What WAS that?”. The older Winchester brother wrestled internally with the conflicting desires to either charge down the stairs to beat the Holy CRAP out of his former friend or to crush many a rib in a massive bear hug!  But he gave into neither, instead following the “man?” numbly into the house as he went to aid a bound and gagged Daphne. 

   After some minor pleasantries and a base explanation of the help Dean needed, he and ‘Emmanuel’ took off for the hospital that held a hapless Sammy. They rode together for several hours before the Hunter drew up the nerve to start a conversation. He quickly discovered what he’d already suspected…‘Emmanuel’/Castiel had no memory of who he was or anything he’d done. His former friend confessing that his “wife” had found him while hiking by a river a few months ago “…drenched and confused, and... unclothed. I had no memory.” Presumably, GOD had wanted her to find him! Dean found it kind of hard to believe that the Almighty, if the guy was even still AROUND, would be inclined to intercede on behalf of the angel that had tried to dethrone him! 

   They talked for awhile longer before the topic of Castiel was broached …to, well, Castiel.   

   “…Dude broke my brother's head.”

   “…This dude! He was your friend?”

   Clenching his teeth and boring a hole in the wind shield, Dean ground out, “Yeah, well, he’s gone! …I don't know if he is dead. I just know that… I used to be able to just shake this stuff off…But…What Cass did... I just can't – I don't know why.”

   With a heavy sigh, his passenger remarked, “Well, it doesn't matter why… You're not a machine, Dean. You're human!” Then as an after thought, or perhaps to lighten the mood,  “Your friend's name was Cass?”, he’d smirked, “That's an odd name.” 

   The next morning, while stopping at a convenience store for some snacks, Dean gets ambushed by a couple black-eyed bastards…Which get put down by none other than the long elusive Meg. After some tense negotiations, the Hunter agrees to let the demon tag along and quells the amnesiac angel’s chagrin by, half-heartedly, ensuring him of her “friend” status. 

   Later that night, after a VERY awkward trip with a demon in the backseat, the three-some arrived at the hospital only to find the entrance guarded by a small horde of Hell-spawn. Dean pulls Meg aside when she seems froggy to blow Cass’ cover, who, none the less, overhears the Hunter’s reprimands and wonders, “I gather we know each other.”  To which a short back and forth ensued, mostly between Meg and ‘Emmanuel’ and ending with the demon’s snide reintroduction of  her companions to each other with “You used to fight together. Bestest friends, actually.” 

   Talk about a “deer caught in headlights” expression, poor little tree topper, he DIDN’T want to ask but couldn’t stop himself either, “We…we're... friends? Am…I Cass?… I don't remember you. I'm sorry.”

    “Look.”  The she-demon tries to coax, impatiently, “...You can smite every demon in that lot.”  

   “But I don’t remember how.” Comes ‘Emmanuel’s’ diminutive retort.  

   Feeling both empathy for the angel…as well as the dire circumstances of his brother in the building, Dean offers a few words of encouragement to which the former Castiel huffs a sighed, “Alright, I’ll try.”

   Dean and Meg look on anxiously as ‘Emmanuel’ steps up to the first unfortunate demon who they can clearly hear exclaim, “I know you! You’re dead!” and the brave return of, “Yes, I’ve heard!”

   Both Hunter and demon shield their eyes from the blast of light that emits from the smiting that follows the brief exchange.  The rest of the villains drop quickly, one - sometimes two - at a time under the angel’s hands. With each blast of dying demon, Dean can see a change flowing over ‘Emmanuel’. Can only imagine what memories are raising to the surface. As the last falls after an EPIC fail at escaping, his two companions tentatively step up behind him as Dean tries, “Cass?”

   “I remember you.” And when Castiel turns to them, the expression on his face proclaims the angel’s definite return. “I remember EVERYTHING!”  With that, he marches away from the confused Hunter who follows right behind after ordering Meg to stay back. 

   “Cass. CASS! …You did the best you could at the time…”

   “…Don’t defend me!” The angel spins on Dean, pinning him with a glare consumed with both anger and guilt. “…We didn’t part friends, Dean…I can’t POSSIBLY fix it…So, why did I even walk OUT of that river?”

   In the back of Dean’s mind, some bit of nostalgia struggles for life. And he KNOWS what his former friend needs.

   “Maybe TO fix it!” He pulls out his keys and pops the trunk of his car. Within a second, he’s found his prize and hands it reverently to the celestial being before him. 

   Castiel gingerly accepts the battered and stained trench coat, in awe. He can do nothing more than stare blinking at the human for a minute before resolve settles over his visage. Taking it by the collar, he lets it fall out it’s folding and gives the coat a quick snap to throw off any dust. Even Meg, who’d quietly come up behind Dean, nods and smiles as if to say, “NOW, Castiel has returned!”, when Cass whips the material around him and his arms slide comfortably into the sleeves. The Hunter doesn’t resist his camaraderie urges as he reaches out to his old friend and tugs on the trench’s lapels, straightening the fabric, and giving a smirk and reassuring pat on Cass’ shoulder. With that small sign of trust, the angel straightens his spine and easily drops into his old, familiar stoic “Angel of the Lord” guise before vanishing in a warm gust from invisible wings. 

   As Dean about-faces toward the hospital, unable to comprehend the New Hell of any demon unfortunate enough to encounter the angel on his mission, he hears Meg hum softly to herself and glances back briefly, curious of what captured her attention.

   “What? An angel on a rampage not interesting enough for ya?”

   “Nah…just wondering what this is?” She was picking up a small slip of paper and made to unfold it. “Fell outta Ol’ Clarence’s coat when he shook it out!” 

   The Hunter snatched it swiftly away even as he slammed the trunk closed and snatched out the keys, pocketing both away out of the demon’s view, as he growled back, “Whatever it is…it’s OBVIOUSLY Cass’! And none of YOUR business!”

   Throwing up her hands defensively, she backed into the shadows, “Touché…Touché! YOUR bad!”

   “Ya know…” He started but drew up short when, in the blink of an eye, she was gone! “Typical!”   

   Now, standing alone by the car, the weight of empty air around him set Dean’s already frail nerves further on edge. 

   “Screw it! This is taking too long!” He mutter to no one but himself. Uncertain as he already was as to what, if any, sign he’d receive that all way clear inside, he charges the building, determinately. 

   Not knowing WHERE to start looking for his brother and the angel, he defaulted his choice to Sam’s room. Where, to the sinking of his heart, he found Castiel standing in the doorway, seemingly emotionally broke, and his brother laying relatively innate on his bed. Unable, to both of their massive dismay, to fix the wall in Sammy’s head. It had crumbled through the extent of the hallucinations into irreparable dust. But, as Dean witnessed with growing anxiety, Cass realized the only acceptable solution left to them… shift Sam’s psychosis unto himself. 

   After a heart felt apology and frightening display, the angel practically threw himself against the wall. A look of sheer terror etched on the usually unemotional face. Rushing to Sam’s side as he called out for Dean for the first time in a great while, both brothers looked fearfully between each other and the now, near, comatose angel. 

   They quickly arranged for Castiel to take Sam’s place in the hospital and, after everything had went down and Meg showed back up, conspired with her that she take a cover position at the facility to keep an eye on the angel’s welfare. 

   Having made “a deal with the Devil”, so to speak, the Winchesters beat a hasty retreat from the psych ward. Stepping up to the Impala, Sam insisted, “…We can’t just leave him!”

   “Well, we can’t take him with us… We can’t protect him. Not really.”

   “…Dean, this whole "enemy of my enemy is my friend" thing feels kind of like a demon deal.” The younger Winchester pointed out in reference to Meg’s “new job”.

   Said brother pauses at the driver’s door with a deep sigh of resignation. “Look, man, I get it. She's not our friend. We don't even have friends. All our friends are dead”    The older Winchester tries to dismiss his brother’s foreboding.  

   As Sammy stands by whimsically staring back at the hospital, Dean slams himself into the Impala. Waiting for his little brother to get in, he pats down his jacket for the keys and sticks his hand in the one he feels them in. Pulling out the metal ring, a crumpled shred of paper tumbles out as well. Recognizing it as the one Meg had found that fell out of Cass’ trench coat, he curiously opens it finding a note that reads:  

 

“MY deen

got go bye. got get beeg.

got a heel samie. 

wuv u. b bak sooon.

\- kaz” 

   

   A recent memory of a ‘Free…to…home’ sign half destroyed in the laundry tickles the back of his mind…immediately conjuring with it a vision of a tiny, mysterious boy with big blue eyes that had cried into his shoulder for his brother’s ill state.

   He smirks at the scribbled, misspelled words and quietly mutters, “Sammy and I might not have any friends left…” He reverently refolds the message and places it in the inside pocket of his jacket, next to his heart, “But we still have some FAMILY! Ya did what ya promised, Cass! And like I promised you that night…I’ll find a way to help YOU! Swear!”

   Noticing Sam had finally gotten in and was now gawking at him quizzically, Dean gives his little bro a brief pat on the knee.

   “Let’s go, dude! We got work to do!” 


	4. ‘Free Angel: Preferably to Broken Home’: Epilogue

 

 

   As the Impala pulled away leaving the comatose Castiel in the suspicious hands of “Nurse” Meg, neither Winchester paid much attention to the two orderlies enjoying a minor break in action beside the main entrance. The taller man, leaning against the wall and sucking merrily on a lollipop, questioned his companion, 

“They're going to fine, right?” His shocking hazel eyes sought the shorter man’s light, bright blues. “Dean and Sam an'… and Cass?”

   “ ‘Course they will!” He replied before sipping from a tumbler of whiskey. “We’re looking after them, aren’t we?” 

   Withdrawing the candy with an audible pop, the attendant wearing a name tag of “Gary” nodded absently. “I just don’t know if we can trust that damn demon!”

   Placing a consoling hand on his friend’s shoulder, the other orderly ,“Charlie”,  reassured, “Don’t worry, son! Meg’ll stay on script…or I don’t think even *I* could save her from the Winchesters!” He smirked up at “Gary” from behind a short grizzled bread. The taller guy returned the expression, knowingly. Then suddenly went sober.

   “What about Singer? He hasn’t checked into the High-rise yet!”

   “Not the last I checked. He’s still floating around. Which is fine… ‘cause I have plans for that old Hunter!” When “Gary” turned a decidedly questioning look on his friend, his only response was a wink and devious grin.     

   “By the way, I never got to tell ya! Nice work a few months back with that monsoon! Raphael would'a been proud!” 

   “Gary” twirled the sucker in his mouth, thoughtfully, a moment before returning the compliment, “Well, I learned from the best. And, hey, thanks for…well, at least temporarily, resurrecting my old church! It was good to see it again! Made for a DAMN good visual effect, too!”   

   “Charlie” patted his partner as he took a long sip from a glass that never seemed to go below half full. “All part of good story telling, yeah?” 

   “Yeah! But I still don’t get…Why all the dramatics of getting Castiel to Dean? Especially like that?”

    Swirling the amber liquid in the glass, he contemplated his answer, “ ‘Cause a father tries to give his kids want they need. And, at the time…Dean needed HOPE! Hope that he would see his friend again. And to remember how much Cass meant to him so he could get past his anger. Get to a place where forgiveness can grow. And, with humans…what better way to pull at those heart-strings than with a child. Also, he needed hope that help would surface for his brother. Which only the one who caused the problem could solve.”

   Stepping in front of the other and toasting him, he laughingly ordered, “Now…break time’s over, son! I’ll stick around here and keep an eye on “Nurse Betty” and your baby brother. You, Gabriel…YOU watch over those two lunk heads! Help keep them outta serious trouble.” 

   “Yes, Father!”

   With a mutual nod of acceptance, both “men” vanished, one to sound of massive beating wings and the other in a puff of glittering white smoke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End… or is it?

**Author's Note:**

> (I claim no ownership of the accompanying image that headers chapter 1.)


End file.
